Down in Devon

Pepe and his pal Ginger

Has Pepe seen a frog?

View from the front of the house

It was just a quick trip, Tuesday to Thursday, and it rained all Wednesday, but I managed to take a few photos while the sun was still shining. My daughter's new puppy, Pepe, who is 12 weeks old, is gorgeous and Ginger, the 13-year-old neutered tom, is behaving like a mother towards him, licking his face clean and cuffing him when he gets too boisterous.

It must have been very difficult for my daughter's adoptive mum to adjust to her birth mum entering her life, but each time we meet things feel easier between us and this time, shortly after I got home, my daughter sent me a text saying her mum really likes me and is glad R and I found each other. This gave me a warm glow.

I loved being there, sitting in their peaceful living room reading a Bill Bryson book and gazing at the exquisite scenery beyond the window. I really didn't want to come home. On the train back, my heart sank as we neared Clapham Junction and the houses grew taller, meaner and closer together. It was as if the very air was compressed and I could almost feel my lungs contracting and rejecting the city fumes after being full of glorious fresh air.

I now feel discontented... kind of disconnected, unsure where I belong, pulled in too many directions. Yet I know that I must reject any thoughts of living in the country, owing to the fact that I can't drive and never will, having booked three driving tests in the past and being too scared to turn up for them. I suppose there's always those electric bicycles! Knowing my luck, though, the battery would run out halfway up a hill and I'd have to push it four miles home with all my shopping. Maybe it would be better to buy a donkey!